


Death is Misleading

by Hallowoween, parccel



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood, Cannibalism, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Self-Harm, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27933868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallowoween/pseuds/Hallowoween, https://archiveofourown.org/users/parccel/pseuds/parccel
Summary: Pale skin, hollow cheeks, and long lashes. Oz lies still and cold just as he did in his coffin all those years back.
Relationships: Ada Vessalius & Oz Vessalius
Kudos: 6
Collections: Pandora Hearts Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Retrace I: Unravel At The Seams

**Author's Note:**

> it started out with TWILIGHT  
> how did it end up like this  
> it was only TWILIGHT it was only TWILIGHT
> 
> hi! this is a collab between us for the PH Reverse Bang (https://twitter.com/PHReverseBang)! it's our first time making a fic like this, we hope y'all enjoy!!

_Someone once said,_

_A darkness would come_

_Engulf everything in sight._

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

In the depths of eternity, amongst the glittering stars, a little light turns, drawn toward the voice. They look around too, at the other lights, but… not one searches with them. Not one has stopped.

The little light falters. Had they imagined it?

“No,” Gentle hands scoop their form ever so lovingly, as the white visage of a girl manifests by their side. “We heard her too.”

“She’s been waiting all this time—” Another appears: a twin image, a blaze of color— a beloved friend.

“All this time for you—”

“Calling your name!”

“Do you feel it?” 

And the little light does: the chains that link them to this realm are slowly tugging, clinking, pulling them back.

The girls look at one another, at the glistening core of their world, at the tiny, tiny light, and smile.

“It’s time to go home.”

Everything fades from view as they're swept away and, just as the passage disappears from their vision, they reach toward the trail of twinkling lights, one last time.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

It is too cold to think. 

He doesn't know how long he's been there. Doesn't remember _how_ but...

“However,”

_He knows..._

“This does not mean”

_He knows this one._

“There was never any light.”

_Who was it that said that?_

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

Echoes of breaking chains resound in his ears and, slowly, but surely, Oz opens his eyes.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

Everything is bright.

Streaks of golden light illuminate the dusty room, making it harder to focus his bleary vision. Not that he minds. After all, it’s almost like… _like… huh_? His thoughts slip away faster than he can grasp them, and all at once he is left in an empty haze.

He blinks.

A pleasant voice rings clear in the room. Instantly, it catches his attention, but a terrifying exhaustion fills his body, one that tries to tug him back into a deep, deep slumber. Obviously, he ignores it. 

Instead, Oz wills his sluggish sight to creep along the wooden grooves of the bed frame ( _worn from all the times he and Ada would trace its intricate floral designs_ ) to the pile of books stacked on the side table ( _lesser, actually, fewer than he remembers setting down_ ) and onto… _her_.

Had he any breath to spare, he would have gasped.

There is a woman by his bedside. Soft, golden locks are tied up neatly into a bun, with only a few stray strands joining the bangs that grace her gentle face. She holds onto the book like a prayer, carefully reciting the bedtime story Oz used to read to his little sister, could tell it to her by heart. But what catches his attention most are her eyes: kind, lonely emerald eyes. 

In truth, she reminds him of Ada. A glimpse into the future, if at all. He had hoped, at least, he'd be able to see it. But there is only one person who would so strikingly resemble her, he decides.

Oz's palms sweat heavily, stomach churning with dread and elation, words kept down for years starting to bubble up his throat. Once, twice, three times he scans her face. There is no doubt about it.

Before he knows it, he throws himself at her, mustering up all the little strength he has to wrap his arms around—

"Mother!" he cries. He's been waiting for so long. "Mother!"

He feels guilty for wanting it to be real but the warmth of her embrace is more than enough to make the strong, cheerful facade he'd built crumble away. Oz buries his face in his mother's shoulder, relief and years of heartbreak washing over him all at once.

There is so much he wants to say.

_Ada has grown up so much, you would have smiled, seeing her._

_I missed you._

_Father missed you… so much._

_It hit him most when you passed._

His face is hot with tears. He doesn't want her to see them.

_I tried my best for Ada._

_He wanted someone better but._

_I hope I made you proud._

"Have you come to get me?" he whispers, quietly.

She sighs and hugs him tighter.

"Young Master Oz," his heart shatters. "You are alive and well."

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

Her name is Alice. “Doctor,” she adds, Oz notes, nervously.

She was to fill in the vacancy Mrs. Kate left after she retired (had it really been that soon?) and take charge of the ‘quarantine’ cottage. It had only been a few days since Father had prepared it— _”You musn't go near your sister!”_ —but he feels it’s been much longer without Ada and Gilbert’s company.

“Do you remember anything?”

Oz laughs. What a strange question.

The doctor stammers a flustered apology as Oz replies, “Of course. Let’s see here—”

Memories of something bright. Gil sneaking Ada away to continue her nightly ‘ _storytime with big brother_ ,’ the three huddling close in spite of Mrs. Kate’s protests. But, once in a while, he would take a peek from his narration and catch a warm smile on her face as she prepared their dinner.

“Ada and Gil were here for a visit,” Oz looks longingly at the tall, curtained window at the end of the room. “I’m not sure if they’d mentioned it to you before, but Ada loves stories. Used to read them to her before…” _Before the cough started. Before he’d stopped being able to run around the mansion without feeling fatigued._ His fingers curl around the blanket.

“I see,” the doctor nods in the corner of his eye.

“Do you think they’ll be able to stop by today?”

“I’m… sorry, Young Master,” his shoulders slacken. “A-ada and Gilbert were told not to go near the cottage.” 

As expected. 

“But, you _are_ getting better!”

Oz looks at her, shyly. Even with his earlier blunder— _Mother, he’d called her, to his own embarrassment_ —the similarities stay true. 

“Soon, you’ll be able to visit them yourself,” the doctor smiles, warmly. “Until then, save your strength.” She scribbles something down her, he assumes, checklist and asks, “Um—how do you feel?”

“Fine,” More than fine, with the news of his recovery. His limbs, however, are heavy. “Tired. Hungry?” He’s a little faint, thinking about it. “The usual for someone who’s just gotten out of bed.”

They both look at him, head resting on a pillow, body sinking back under the covers.

“Half-gotten out,” he corrects himself with a playful smile, sitting up.

The doctor laughs a very hearty laugh and suddenly, Oz is brought back to his childhood.

“Well,” she puts both hands to her hips. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to stay in bed if you’re tired—” Oz pouts. “But I can prepare a meal fo you, if you’d like, Y—”

“Oz,” he says. “Oz is fine.”

She purses her lips and fails to hide her smile. “Y-yes… Oz.”

The doctor leaves for the kitchen. He closes his eyes, listening to the soft clattering of bowls and utensils. A cat meows. _Cat? Was there one here?_ He hears the doctor murmuring softly to her furry companion and he is at ease.

He’d gotten a cat, once.

Uncle Oscar’s cat had given birth to a new litter and he, with news of a sister coming his way, was going to be the best big brother ever! 

_‘Really?’_

_‘Yes!’_

_Uncle ruffled his hair, eyes filled with adoration._

_‘Mm,’ he stroked his still-growing beard in deep thought. He gestured bigly towards the bed of cats, pointing at one of the little bundles around the resting Lorina. ‘Why don’t you take care of this little one first, then? She’s a little smaller than the rest of her siblings, but, if you take care of her well, she’ll grow just fine.’_

_A younger Oz nodded seriously, gasping as he watched the smaller cat yawn. ‘She’s perfect, Uncle!’_

_Uncle bellowed. ‘Of course she is! Any perfect names for her?’_

_Oz had beamed. ‘I know just the one!’ He’d been reading a lot of books lately. ‘Her name is…’_

Her name...

_‘Do you remember anything?’_

He searches his mind for the cherished name, only for the doctor’s words to take its place and feed a growing uneasiness in his stomach. It growls.

“Oz.” Just in time, she returns with a bowl of freshly made porridge. His stomach churns and he hopes this will be enough to quell it.

He thanks her, blowing at the steaming dish before putting a few spoonfuls in his mouth.

The doctor immediately lights up and he wants to tell her just how delicious it turned out, but—

He slaps a hand at his mouth. It pours out anyway. 

A mixture of porridge and hot bile splatters down onto the ground as he painfully gags out the contents of his stomach, the sound of drowning replacing his thoughts as he struggles to breathe.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

“Better?” The doctor asks.

She had been rubbing circles in his back, finding it a little too late to keep the vomit from getting onto everything. When his stomach finally settled, she had promptly cleaned the floor, the bed, Oz himself. The fresh clothes feel nicer against his back but he feels awful. Groggier. Hazier. Hungrier.

He’s not.

“Better,” Oz lies with a weak smile.

The doctor seems to pause, as if to hold her own tongue. She gets up, unconvinced. “I’ll make some tea.”

As promised, she makes her way back with a cup of tea, cloudy but a vivid crimson under the candlelight. He eyes it suspiciously and takes a whiff. It… smells sweet. 

He takes a sip, testing the waters first before savoring the rest. Strength comes to him, bit by bit. Not completely, he thinks, drinking the last few drops. But enough to sate him for the moment.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

It becomes routine, this tea time with the doctor. The fog in his head remains, though it’s a little clearer, a little more bearable now.

He still feels colder and weaker than he would’ve liked, but Oz notices he hasn’t coughed in a while. He takes it as a good sign. A spark of hope ignites in him once more.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

The day the doctor goes out (“to the mansion,” she’d said. “To restock on medicine.”), Oz gets out of bed. 

He plants his feet on the ground, gradually releasing his hold on the blanket and waits.

...

Oz lets out a sigh of relief.

His legs don’t give way under his weight, nor do they feel too heavy, despite his inactivity these past few days. Perfect. He sways slightly, left, right, muscles adjusting as he inches closer to the window. 

_Where are they?_

The first day he’d been confined, Gil had brought Ada with him by dinner time, and continued their daily ‘impromptu’ visits since. It’s been nearly a week and the two still haven’t come around.

_If he’s healing, shouldn’t they have come to celebrate?_

He puts the curtain aside to lay a hand down on the warm glass—only to close it back completely.

Pain sears and scorches his hand to the bone, making Oz withdraw it reflexively, a curse under his breath. He winces, cradling the wound. _A burn?_

_'You_ are _getting better!’_ her words replay like a comforting melody in his mind.

(But the charred skin on his hand suggests much, much otherwise.)

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

The doctor makes it a rule: no windows, no sunlight, “no trying to leave until you’re properly healed and well,” she says with worried frown. 

She’s been leaving more frequently lately—to the mansion, Oz presumes. She keeps a collection of newly acquired Holy Knight volumes (all nine of them, he had read and reread) at his bedside table and tells him she will be back soon. As she always does. 

He tries to sleep it off (he had told her he will), but it gets harder and harder to sit still. 

...And— _a growl_ —more difficult to distract his stomach.

Oz lies back, arms spread against his bed sheet. He needs something else.

The room is darker than he would’ve liked but it highlights the library, warm, flickering rays spilling underneath the door from when the doctor had spent some time there, earlier. _Maybe he could find his older copies there_ , he thinks, looking back at the stack of books.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

The library is… dustier than he remembers. Then again, Mrs. Kate wasn’t one to leave a spot untidied for too long. And the doctor has her hands full... 

He smiles. He doesn’t mind.

For now, Oz scours the shelves for his books. Communing with Spirits, The Cure for Death, A Necromancer’s Diary (he squints, _Jack Vessalius?_ ), What Lies Beneath the Earth (he doesn’t remember Uncle sending him so many of these) and—aha! Holy Knight… Volume 18?!?

His eyes bulge, lips quivering, body shaking. 

_This is unreal._

_It can’t be._

His eyes trail to the preceding copies. 17… 16… 15….

(If he’s dreaming, he pleads that he doesn’t wake. Not yet.)

He reaches out, fingers close to turning dream into reality when he hears a soft mewl.

Then, it hits him. 

A pungent aroma fills his nostrils, turning his attention towards the snow-colored cat on the ground. 

It meows louder, closer, but not enough to rival the sound of Oz’s own stomach. 

His mouth waters.

_It smells appetizing_.

Before he knows it, Oz finds himself crouched down, eyes locked onto the passerby, who jumps back in response. He needs to act now _now_ **_NOW_**.

He raises a claw, ready to grab his prey, the scarlet ribbon adoring its neck waving at the sudden motion.

_'A ribbon for Dinah?'_

Oz freezes.

_'Mm,' Gilbert nodded, smiling down at Ada. 'She said she’d love to share one of her ribbons, but she kept insisting that the Young Master teach her.'_

He remembers smiling too, as he set aside his books to help tie a ribbon around Dinah.

_What would Ada think, seeing me now?_

Tears form and drip down his cheeks as he throws both hands against his mouth, the sharp pang that meets and keeps meeting his palms snapping him out of his thoughts. 

_It hurts_. 

It’s only when the cat purrs against his arm and tries to lick his wounds that he cries harder.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

The doctor finds him slumped over her cat, dried tears wet by new ones as he gnaws on his hands.

“Oz?”

He turns a pleading gaze towards her, unable to speak. 

_I’m sorry,_ he wants to sa _y. It’s not what you think._

_What’s happening to me?_

Father had looked at him with such scorn that day. A sickness to curse you for what you've done in a past life, he’d claimed.

_'Your sin is your very existence.'_

But as Oz searches in the doctor’s emerald eyes, there is no contempt or disgust. In its place, he finds understanding and… something else.

“It’s okay,” she bends down to wipe his tears with her thumb. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

Her voice breaks. “It’s okay,” She holds him close.

The cat mewls, joining in with the doctor.

He doesn’t know why they’re so kind to him. Truly. 

Yet, for just this moment, he lets himself be loved and believe that, maybe, everything will be alright.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

Oz stares down at his bandaged hands.

The doctor had wrapped them herself, assuring him that “the ointment should help” and fetching him another cup of tea before she left. He should be comforted. Should be. 

He thinks back to when she'd cleaned his palms, wiping the marks in his skin with a damp towel.

_Was there ever any blood in those wounds?_

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

Something is going on.

Whatever it is the doctor keeps to herself, whatever she retrieves from the mansion, it eats him up from the inside out. 

_What had she been feeding him?_

Oz has seen what ill-intent looks like, is familiar with the plastic smiles and cutting gazes of the nobles around him. When he looks into her eyes… there’s a genuineness there that makes him soften, just a bit.

He has to know.

Oz steadies himself on the floor and makes his way toward the closet. He finds a cloak, long and dark. (And new, he muses with a raised brow.) He doesn’t remember ever having this wear tailored but as he slings it over his shoulders and joins the ribbon near his neck, he thinks, ‘This will do.’

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

There is no way he'd made it to the mansion.

Yes, that’s it.

He must have finally fallen asleep, reminiscing about the clearing in the forest, the path to home. 

Oz closes his eyes, pinches his side and bites his lip.

A pause.

(The wind quickens and lies still around him all at once.)

Any second now.

(He realizes, it might be his breathing.)

He opens his eyes to an unchanging scenery and. His heart. Stops.

Before him stands an old manor, its weathered bricks covered with creeping vines and rampant flora. If you’d asked him what it looked like, Oz would surely have said, _‘Ah, it came straight out of a picture book!’_

Except it hadn’t.

The details are far too familiar yet not, a nostalgic memory tampered with until only a sliver is recognizable.

He shivers.

The door opens with a loud _creeeeaaaak_ and Oz realizes his feet have already moved forward whereas his mind had not.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

It’s livelier than he expected— is what Oz thinks as strays further inside. 

The deeper he goes, the brighter the halls seem to shine. Faded green paint becomes a vivid myrtle; commissioned paintings lose the dusty maroon cloth draping over them; furniture—desks, couches, tables—become increasingly polished. 

Despite its worn outward appearance, the inside of the mansion was almost how he’d left it. 

Almost.

Echoing chatter and shuffling seem to seep through the walls, keeping him company as he journeys through and Oz thinks he should be worried. He should be scared, even. 

But days without a proper meal had clouded his head and Oz _feels_ numb. 

(A sharp copper scent wafts through the air, guiding him, pulling him to a proposed destination. Thoughtlessly, Oz follows.)

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

Everything is strongest here.

The lights; murmurs; _scent_. 

_What is it_? 

Oz pulls at the half-open door to reveal a congregation of hooded figures and one finely dressed man, uncloaked, front and center. Though, he might just be the strangest.

“Rejoice,” the man declares, gleeful eyes locking onto Oz’s as he throws his hands in the air and then gestures toward the newcomer. “The reincarnation of our dearest Jack Vessalius is here.”

The whispers grow louder. 

“It’s him.”

“Young Master Oz Vessalius.”

“He’s come to save us all.”

(Voices bounce off the dark-stained stone encasing the room, flames swaying to their chorus. He wants it to stop.)

Oz holds his head.

“What is all this?”

“A celebration for your return, of course!” The man extends his hands in a show of grandeur, long, dark auburn braids falling back as quickly as it flew.

Oz ignores him, trying to focus.

Odd designs outlined in chalk cover the floor, the middle adorned with two smaller singed circles and an engraved line, connecting the—

“Did she not tell you?” The man is nearer now, tilting his body a little _too far_ to the side than one would ever think of doing and, more importantly, blocking Oz’s view. Oz grits his teeth. 

“I’m not interes—”

“About how Miss Ada brought you back?”

The man’s face fills his vision, closer now, an unnerving grin plastered on his face.

_What?_

“It’s true,” He bends backward, swaying a hand back toward the room. “She’s worked so hard to revive you—” (Oz claps a hand to his neck. No pulse.) “You should have seen how eager she was to be a student of the dark arts.”

“Yes, Miss Ada is a devout member.” 

“She’s excelled so much over the years.”

“She’s brought us you, Young Master Oz.”

_Ada, his baby sister, no older than eight._

“And she’s taken care of you, all this time.”

The room spins.

Oz falls to his knees.

_The doctor’s kind, lonely emerald eyes._

“You must be elated, Young Master,” Oz looks up at the cloakless man who dares tower over him. His nails sink into the ground.

“ _How can I_?! How could **_you_**?!” his own voice rings unfamiliar in his ears. “ **She was a child**!”

“And who was I to turn down a potential student?”

Oz bares his teeth.

The man only smiles wider.

_“_ **_She was the one who came to me, you know._ ** _”_

Red takes over Oz’s vision as screams flood the room, (but the warmth that fills his stomach is more than enough to drown it out).

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

When the fog in his head clears, Oz comes to licking his hands clean, the last droplets of blood sucked dry off his sticky, loosely bandaged palms.

(Oz had—)

He looks at the floor, red streaks messily painting the pale tiles below.

( _He’d—_ )

The tattered tunic and torn skirt. They’re soaking red. Where is—

(The ground shakes from under him and him alone.)

Oz tremors terribly as he holds the half-eaten head of the strange man, skull now unhidden with much of its skin and muscles either strewn about or… or….

(He wants to cry, at how _nice_ the thought of eating the rest of this corpse is to him.)

_What would Ada think, seeing me now?_

“—Oz!”

  


His younger—older sister stops in her tracks, grabbing onto the stairs’ side rail as she takes in the scene. A monster waits below her. 

“A… Ada,” Oz stares like a deer in headlights. He waits for the slew of cries, to tell him father was right, to get out of her sight at once, but. Ada seems to sigh in relief and, instead, hurry down towards him.

_No._

He gets up.

“Big brother?”

_Don’t come._

He turns away from her.

“W-wait!”

_I don’t want to hurt you._

And Oz runs.


	2. Retrace II: Don’t Wake Me Up

A warm hand gently strokes through golden locks. 

Pale skin, hollow cheeks, and long lashes. Oz lies still and cold just as he did in his coffin all those years ago.

He’s been asleep ever since the ritual and Ada is unsure of what will greet her when he wakes up.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

Ada was no stranger to death.

From a young age strangers would always find a way to bring up what happened to her mother, long before she even knew what death was.

_'Oh, you poor thing!'_

_'She’s in a better place now.'_

_'Everything happens for a reason.'_

The only person who actually tried to explain it to her was Uncle Oscar. When Ada asked, he took her to his library and pulled out a little picture book from one of the shelves, presenting it to her with a _ta-da!_

_The Abyss._

The story told of a little light being led by two guides through the Abyss and back to Earth; a book used to explain death to kids.

Ada was fascinated by the concept and it quickly became her new favorite book. The first time she had Oz read it to her though, she noticed he would linger on the pages a little longer than when he read her other books. He didn’t have the same energy as when he read the Holy Knight series, but the book seemed to resonate with him in a way Ada didn’t understand. Ada knew she couldn't share the loss her father and brother experienced, she was too young to have truly known her mother. Part of her wanted to know their pain, but when Oz fell sick she wished she’d never have to.

It started with a cough that just wouldn’t go away.

_'Don’t worry about it, I’ll get better soon!'_

But he didn’t.

His condition kept worsening until their father decided to have him quarantined to a cottage out in the forest of their estate “to protect” Ada from his illness. The usually well-behaved Ada cried, kicking and screaming, begging to see her brother. _I don’t want Brother to feel lonely! If he’s sick, I can take care of him!_

None of the servants wanted to risk being the one who let Miss Ada get infected. Even Uncle Oscar expressed his concerns, he didn’t want to risk both his niece and nephew.

The only one who understood was Gilbert. Neither of them could stand the thought of leaving him secluded like that. He would sneak her out of the mansion to visit Oz in his cottage as often as he could manage without getting caught. They were lucky that Mrs. Kate was the one tasked with caring for Oz for as much as she reprimanded them, she kept it a secret until the very end.

Nothing felt real after Oz died. Ada stayed locked in her room, time passing by all too fast while she was stuck in the moment Mrs. Kate had to tell her and Gilbert he was gone.

It wasn't until she reopened the old picture book that she found something to keep her going. She initially picked it up to see if she could finally understand what her brother saw, but instead found a note that had been secretly tucked between its pages, waiting for her to find it.

> All stories are founded on a fragment of truth. 
> 
> \- The Best Big Brother Ever!

Just when Ada thought she had cried herself dry, water started pooling in her eyes again as she held and reread the note over and over again. They were meant to be words of comfort, a guarantee that there was something, anything beyond death. But if there was any truth to the Abyss then...Ada believed she could bring her brother back.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

Ada shifts her gaze from the book, towards the sound of rustling sheets where she finds red eyes staring into her own.

_Brothe—_

“Mother!” he falls into her arms, weak and fragile.

 _Mother?_ How much time had passed without her noticing? How different had she become from the Ada in his memories? Did she really resemble her that much?

Thin arms wrap around her as he buries his face into her shoulder, still believing her to be their mother. He’s so much smaller than she remembers. She’s never seen him cry either, and still technically hasn’t, but she can feel his tears soak through her clothing. It takes Ada everything she has not to devolve into a sobbing mess. She wants him to depend on her this time!

“...Have you come to get me?”

She holds him tight, and steels herself for what she needs to do.

“Young Master Vessalius, you are alive and well. I’m A…Alice. Your new doctor.”

She can’t tell him the truth yet, he needs time to adjust.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

The more Ada researched about the Abyss the more hope she gained for her brother's return. The first place she thought to look was in her Uncle Oscar’s library. To Ada’s surprise he already owned numerous books that entertained the idea of an afterlife and even the occult. Ada wondered if he’d ever thought of bringing Aunt Sara and their son back. For a man who had lost two--three loved ones, he seemed to cope well, but Uncle Oscar and Oz were similar in that way, always smiling, always hiding what they’re really feeling.

One particular book that stood out to Ada was one titled _A Necromancer’s Diary_ by Jack _Vessalius_ . She’d never heard of him before but immediately found herself engrossed in his work. He’d been trying to revive a past lover, listing down all the methods he had tried and would try. Ada used his research as the basis for her own. Her interest in the work of her ancestor also ended up leading her to _his_ cult. It was also her interest in the work of her ancestor that led her to _his_ cult.

_'Oh Young Lady Vessalius! It’s such an honor to meet a descendant of our hero, the one and only, Jack Vessalius! Now...about that book?'_

Isla Yura was not a trustworthy man by any means, but he was just as obsessed with the Abyss as Ada was, if not more.

The only way she could get in contact with him was by using the book, though he seemed more interested in taking it for himself. When she told him she wanted help bringing her brother’s soul back from the Abyss, however, she suddenly piqued his interest. 

Apparently, there had been rumors that her brother was the reincarnation of Jack Vessalius. That didn’t matter to Ada, but if he was willing to help for that reason... He gave her access to his research, offering anything else she might need for the revival. 

All he wanted in return was the chance to laugh and die at the hands of something that defied all logic.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

Hooded figures surrounded Ada, watching as she drew an intricate circle detailed by sigils on the floor of their parlor room. She placed her brother's remains on one of the inner circles and a bunny plush he had given her in another. Ada then sliced her finger and dragged her bloodied finger across a gap in the outline.

With her circle closed, she began to recite the incantation.

The magic circle glowed a bright, hot white, sparks flying and smoke rising from where the circle seared itself into the floor. Reality seemed to rip where a void forces its way into their world.

Ada took a deep breath, holding her gaze into the growing void in front of her, “...However, this does not mean there was never any light.”

And from the darkness, a little light came floating out, warm and familiar.

It first circled around Ada before swirling around the other hooded figures like a gust of wind, seemingly looking for someone. When the little light could not find what it was looking for among the people present it started hovering curiously over Oz’s remains. Satisfied, the light descended into the bowl of ashes and began molding itself bones, nerves, organs, muscles, skin--and in mere seconds it had morphed into a replica of her brother.

Ada fell to her knees, _it’s him, it’s really him._ She approached the familiar shape of her brother, a hand reaching out, just to make sure he was real--but Ada realized something was different. What were once her brother’s kind emerald eyes were instead bright red and vacant.

The thing shaped like her brother stood crooked, swaying from side to side, unable to hold its balance. It slowly made its way past Ada and toward one of the hooded figures. The way it moved felt wrong, like something inhuman was wearing his skin. 

Now both the thing and the other cult member were only a few feet apart. It stayed in front of them, still swaying. It was dark, but Ada swore she saw something grow out of its mouth and— _was that drool?_

Ada cried out a moment too late as her brother—it—lunged at the cult member. It sank its teeth into their arm and tore their flesh apart, painting the room a deep red.

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“Is he _really_ satisfied by drinking those diluted blood vials?” Isla Yura asks with those peering eyes that Ada is all too familiar with.

“As much as possible, I want him to have a normal life. I’ll figure out a way for him to eat and--”

“He can only eat raw meat and blood, the sun burns his skin, he’s no longer human. He hasn’t been since you brought him back, my star pupil.”

Ada wants to believe Oz can live normally again--live the life he was supposed to have before he got sick.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

_How could I have let this happen?_

She finds Oz, sobbing, holes punctured throughout his hand. She wipes his tears with her thumb and decides she never wants to see him cry again.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

Screams pierce from the floor below.

Ada hurries past the fleeing disciples, clutching vials of fresh blood in one hand and the stair rails in the next.

That's when she hears it.

Something gnawing, slurping on the ground and she smells that all-too-familiar scent of blood. And when she turns the corner, finally nearing the floor, she sees her big brother.

"—Oz?"

There's so much blood. On the ground. The clothes surrounding him. There's no mistaking Isla Yura's garments. She feels a tinge of sadness for her lost mentor but she shoves it away. 

Not now, not again.

He looks up at her, red sorrowful eyes, his whole form showered in blood. _He looks like he's asking for help._

She won't lose him this time.

"A… Ada."

She pauses. Her name… her big brother knows. Tears form in her eyes. She won't have to lie to him anymore.

Ada's heart bursts with relief as she makes her way downstairs, but just as quickly as she runs, Oz makes his way out of the mansion, into the forest, in the dead of night.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

"Brother!" she cries out. She's lost track of how many times she had. 

"I thought if I could just see you again—" her head is light on her weary shoulders but she can't stop now. "If I could just talk to you again—"

She's been searching the forest far and wide now. Her clothes are wet with muck and sweat and she tries so hard not to cry again.

 _Brother, it was devastating_ , she decides she'll tell him.

_I missed you so much._

An eternity passed in her room and not a day went by when the sun shone as brightly as him.

_They told me it’d get better but it never did, not really._

When she took on her role as Oz's doctor, she made a promise to the both of them that things will be different.

But… 

_I didn’t know it’d be like this._

_I never meant to put you through so much pain, brother._

_I just knew that it’d bring you back._

_I didn’t know it’d do this to you._

She thinks of Oz in his last days, the serene smile he'd had on his deathbed.

 _Why are you the one paying for my selfish wish?_

Even now, he puts her before himself.

She reaches a hand out and wishes. 

Just one more chance. Once more before the sun rises, she'd like to see him, one last time.

A golden streak catches her eye and Ada cries, unable to have said goodbye to the brother she'd just gotten back.

“Ada," a gentle voice starts (patient and kind as she'd always remember it). "Hey, hey, look here." He catches her as she leaps into his arms, the two siblings reunited at last. 

They retreat to the cottage, Oz leading the way like old times. They talk of what they'd wanted to say—Ada, especially, with Oz nodding along, catching up with his sister.

And when they tire, the two go to bed and fall asleep together, hand in hand, like when they were kids.

"I’ll always be by your side," big brother tells her and in her heart, she knows it's true.

════ ⋄✦⋄ ════

When Ada wakes up, Oz is gone. Even now, she repeats in her mind, he puts her before himself.


End file.
